


Not as Strange as a Paladin and a Warlock

by halduronbrightwang



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Addiction, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of quest lines, Multiple Partners, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Slow Romance, Sunwell is fixed, post burning crusade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halduronbrightwang/pseuds/halduronbrightwang
Summary: He didn't plan on becoming a Paladin, at least not at first, and he certainly didn't plan on adventuring with a Death Knight. Least of all, Fennil wasn't planning on falling for her either.





	1. This is just the start of something new

**Author's Note:**

> Fennil Brightseeker is my own character, while Amazil belongs to a friend.
> 
> I recently revised and edited the entire fic for errors and inconsistencies

He was just barely starting his apprenticeship when the blood elf left Eversong Woods the first time. While most of the others new to exploring Azeroth left the comfort and clean of Silvermoon went south to retake the Ghostlands, Fennil had a plan in mind and instead headed to the translocation orb to Undercity. This plan of his was naive, planned weeks ago when he first got the chance to go out into the world on his own. 

Fennil Brightseeker had always been expected to become a ranger, or perhaps and outrunner as did most of his family. His sister, his mother, his father, and their mothers and fathers before them had for so long served Quel’Thalas and Silvermoon after that, guarding the Eversong Woods from the Scourge but an event unlike any other had sparked something inside the blood elf’s mind that couldn’t be put out. The Sunwell had been reignited, restored and turned holy with the help of a team of adventurers from all across Azeroth. This inspired the young blood elf, and he quickly quit his apprenticeship with the rangers, instead taking one up with the Blood Knights to become a paladin. The Sunwell restored and with holy magic flowing through it, it was a sign, it had to be that The Light was returning to the Sindorei, once again blessing them with its radiance. He followed the path of the light to the heart, and announced such to his family, the rest of the Brightseekers. 

Though disappointed, it was not that they were not accepting of Fennil’s choice. Rather, it was the fact that the family had already pooled much of their money into getting the young man the appropriate attire to be a ranger, not a paladin. Still, the night before he left, he donned the only piece of armor that was usable, an old cloak that had been handed down many, many, many times within his family and now rested upon his shoulders. He in his mind, was ready. Setting off to Silvermoon was a simple enough task, and within the city he picked up jewelcrafting and mining up the ores necessary, though the guard he’d asked for directions called him as insane as the miner Belil himself for wanting to spend time digging around in the dirt. Such comments Fennil paid no mind to, after all, the man was just a city guard, and he was to be off adventuring in the world of Azeroth, what the guard thought didn’t matter as he’d likely never see him again, as he told himself.

That thought stuck something inside him. Fennil would likely never see him again. A small moment of dread rose up within himself the last moment before he stepped onto the platform to translocate to The Undercity. He could die, out in the wilderness, and never see his homeland or family again. With no one to watch his back or keep him company, would anyone even know what happened to him should he fail to return? The blood elf stepped down from the platform a moment to mull it over; if it was really worth the risk but the deciding factor was that he would be all alone, not that the righteous path he’d chosen was wrong, and soon he found himself buying an auction for a small flaming dog that nipped at his heels and chased after the man wherever he went. The small animal gave him new confidence, now that he wasn’t alone, surely if something happened to him the little hound would go running off for help.

It was then he went back and without hesitation this time pressed his palm to the translocation orb and when he opened his eyes was surrounded by the greyish-white walls of the Ruins of Lordaeron. Now, for most of the Horde’s forces the sight (and smell) of the Undead were little to no surprise but for Fennil, the experience was all new. As someone who’d never left Eversong, he was startled by his first sight of an Abomination hulking down the street and nearly slipped on the putrid ooze that dripped out of the gaping holes in its body. It was laughable to more experienced adventurers, at the freshest face out of Silvermoon experiencing what was the every day for them, but like the guard back at the city, he took any jests and quips without a care and quickly forgot them. Though eventually the sight of the undead became normal to him after a while, after all, they were once humans, many of which who followed the light in life and should be treated with respect rather than disgust, it was much more than he could say for the smell that absolutely permeated the land. Rotting flesh, plague, and other such sorts of discomfort attacked his nose, even as he climbed the tower to the zepplin. Nevertheless, the smell was not any better up there; in fact it may have been worse, thanks to the close proximity to Brill and the swarms of people, dead and alive celebrating the defeat of a shade of the Headless Horseman. For a moment it seemed as though cinders from the buildings the specter failed to burn were still floating in the air with the wind. Eventually, the zeppelin came to take him to the Horde’s capital city, Orgrimmar, home of the orcs. 

It wasn’t much better than Undercity, in his opinion. Instead of rotting corpses, the city smelt of the noxious fumes from the Goblin Slums, burnt iron for the Horde’s war machine being smelted, and the sun baked shit of traveler’s mounts packed into the streets. A far cry from the almost perfumed streets of Silvermoon. Fennil’s plan, to rid the world of corruption and spread the word of the Light would take much longer than he had initially thought, for he had no idea one city could be such a huge maze carved out in the desert rock. The heat was torture under his heavy plated armor, and so he found The Broken Tusk, a tavern and inn near the gates to be ‘good enough’ a resting place for the day until the sun died on the horizon and the awful heat with it. The cool of night was much more pleasant, if not any quieter. Travelers still ran through the streets, nearly mowing down anyone stupid enough to try and cross in front of them and laborers continued to work, pounding new metal plates into the street or logs into the walls to reinforce them as the construction went on through the night.

A strange occurance began to happen, as a chill of death spread through the city hot desert city. Death Knights, agents of the Scourge, simply walking through the main gate, albeit spit on and shouted insults by the guards who boasted loudly how they must have been late to their own executions and were traitorous cowards of the Lich King. At first, he was tempted to draw his sword, hand even resting on the hilt already as one passed him by, but neither made no move to attack. It dawned upon the paladin that this wasn’t an invasion by the Scourge, and he sheathed the weapon and stood aside as these knights made their way to the warchief to be allowed into the Horde under it’s protection. That had to of meant that something had happened to The Lich King, if they were able escape his grasp, right? Over the days, he heard many rumors about the event, and dared to approach one of them. In a pitiful attempt to be a charmer, he plucked a blue flower and offered it to a former blood elf like himself, but the woman drew his sword from his hip in a quick motion and pointed it at his nose, threatening to cut it off and feed it to the ghoul standing by her side if he dared approach her again. Needless to say, he did not try again, with the black haired woman or any of the other Death Knights, realizing that him being a paladin when others were so hostile to them seemed to be a threat. After all, the Light did hurt the undead, forsaken and scourge alike. 

The coming weeks he spent his time doing odd jobs, at first Durotar, then moving along to the Northern Barrens. Along the way, Fennil collected ore and made jewelry, simple at first, but as his skill got better and more refined, so too did the items he crafted. As the jobs in the barrens became more and more… questionable in their reasoning, the paladin decided it was time to move on somewhere else. Somewhere he felt needed the light more than greedy goblins asking him to take out competitors for their dangerous and often volatile machines. And that was how it continued, for the year he steadily worked random jobs across Azeroth, some better than others, but the pay was decent enough to cover repairs on his armor when it was needed and enough supplies and equipment to get by. For Fennil, that was good enough for him, so why question it. After all, he believed he was making a difference in the world and spreading the word of the light, or at least giving people a chance to consider it later on. Many holidays that were once grand celebrations in the streets of Silvermoon City he spent usually around a campfire, roasting whatever meat he could find or rations bought from the last town he passed through with the little dog at his side, chewing away on his left overs. Occasionally he was joined by other travellers, brought in by the safety of numbers and a fire to warm the night. They would talk, share their stories and adventures together and occasionally help one another before continuing on their own paths. Some, he’d see again, weeks or months later and hardly recognize with new armor and scars of long since past battles. Others, he could only wonder what had happened to them after saying their goodbyes and finishing up any trade they had done. 

On nights he spent alone, only him, the dog he’d taken to call Emberbark, and a fire, he wondered while looking at the stars. How many of those travelers had fallen? Did they have family, loved ones, children of their own? The creeping loneliness again inspired a thought in him, not unlike when he first left Silvermoon, that anything could happen to him and not many, if any, would know. With a scrap of paper and an old pen, he started to write a letter to his family, to let them know he was alright. It had to of been what, months since he last wrote? The time all seemed to blend together without the regular contact of major cities. He asked about his sister, if she too had joined the rangers like he was going to before changing his path, and how things were back in the city. Descriptions of his adventures were short and he left out many unsavory details, such as how once in the jungles of Stranglethorn he’d been ambushed by a pack of murlocs and had to limp back to the base camp when they startled away his newly acquired steed. Unsure of how to wrap up the letter, he dug through his bags, which as of late were filled to the brim with random junk, and found a ring he’d crafted some time ago and wrote one last line, asking that it be given to his sister. 

‘I’m fairly sure this is in Kyrel’s size, please give it to her if you have the chance.’ 

Signed and folded to be left in a mailbox later, the paladin tucked away his belongings under a bush and threw another log on his campfire for the night. The old cloak still wrapped around his shoulders acted as his blanket, keeping away the rain that frequented this area of the jungle. It was hard to sleep with the sounds of raptors hunting, and animals rustling through the forest made for an uneasy sleep on the damp ground. The morning wasn’t much better, as his camp got ambushed by Bloodsails looking for an easy target. Unexpectedly, Fennil had the help of another blood elf, passing her way through the Vale after selling accumulated junk in Booty Bay. After the quick yet still bloody fight to fend off the pirates, Fennil began healing his wounds, shucking off pieces of his armor to get at the cuts and clean them. 

“I thank you, that could have been a lot worse had you not helped me. My name is Fennil Brightseeker, may I ask for yours?” He asked her, finishing up with tending his own wounds and began to gather up his scattered belongings around the camp. 

“Amazil.” She didn’t sound very interested in conversation, but Fennil continued anyway, asking her what brought her to Stranglethorn, but she didn’t offer much in response other than that she was just passing through. Still, the paladin was not discouraged, attempting yet again to get a conversation going. He didn't notice her cold eyes, blue like the sky but with the glow of undeath, under her helm.

“Amazil, if it is not too much trouble for yourself, may I ask for your help again? There is an ogre camp I need to find.”

To Fennil’s surprise, the woman laughed at him. 

“Someone’s not well versed on Death Knights; Someone actually talked to me nicely, sure, you’ve piqued my interest.” Honestly, he didn’t know she was a death knight from the armor she wore, his first guess having been that she was a warrior or perhaps another paladin. Either way, it was the start of something much longer than just helping with a quest than either of them had thought as they went deeper into the jungle together.


	2. Days on Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fennil and Amazil meet again in Booty Bay

The next time they met many weeks later, the paladin was an absolute mess. For one thing, he was lying on the floor of a tavern and drunk out of his mind, another was that his armor was absolutely destroyed in a way that was much more concerning than the fact that he was crying on the floor like a child. The death knight, without much tact or pity, simply picked the paladin up off the ground and hoisted him over her shoulder. Paying his tab, Amazil took him outside the tavern and into the light, where hopefully he’d sober up a little bit and she could ask what on Azeroth was his problem.

“Fennil, why are you a blubbering drunk anyways?” She finally asked, looking over the state of his armor again. Were those axe marks? Wiping his eyes, the paladin finally responded.

“He took her, Ama. She didn’t deserve that she was just-” The death knight stopped him for a moment. 

“Who got taken?” 

“The raptor!” Again, he was drunkenly wailing and went off on a spiel about how he was supposed to destroy some raptor eggs and how one hatched, following him around the jungle. Somehow, the paladin managed to get involved with the spirit of a troll warlord and revived him, who threatened to cut the throat of an innocent man if he didn’t hand over the hatchling. At least, that’s all she could understand between his drunken ramblings and choked up sobs. Sighing and putting in more effort to sound kind than was worth on a drunk man, she made a promise to him. 

“We’ll get your baby raptor back, I promise. Just please, stop crying.” 

Amazil sent for the paladin’s armor to be repaired and kept an eye on the man as he sobered up, slowly munching away on some rather stale bread and guzzling down water. More than once he leaned over to vomit off the side of the warf in the most unclassy of ways. He’d long since calmed down, now only grumbling about the pounding in his head. Jokingly, Amazil asked if it was his first time getting drunk and rolled her eyes at his response.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

Once the armorer had repaired his things, slowly the young paladin began to put all the pieces back on while he bid the death knight farwell. 

“I thank you again, Amazil. I’m not sure what had come over me, but I’m going to go back and try and get the little thing back.” He finished lacing up his boot and stood to leave, but the death knight followed him.

“You cannot seriously be thinking of storming Zul’Gurub by yourself.” 

“I will do whatever I must, she is innocent and that troll will surely do horrible things if he is not stopped. I must do something!” 

Amazil stopped Fennil again, grabbing onto his torn cloak to prevent him from leaving. 

“You cannot help her if you’re dead, Fennil. You are nowhere near as experienced a warrior to take that on, especially by yourself.” While her words angered him, they were true and he sat down on the warf again, head in his hands. For a moment, Amazil thought he was about to start crying again, but instead a groan came out of the man. 

“You’re right, you’re absolutely right. I’m sorry.”

The death knight sat beside him, dipping her feet into the water. They talked of where they were from, what adventures they had gone on before they met, and spent some time in Booty Bay before again moving on. This time, however, Amazil came with the paladin. When he asked her, she said that someone had to keep an eye on him to keep him from running back to those troll ruins in a desperate attempt to save a baby raptor, but in truth, he was one of few who’d shown her some actual kindness when they bumped into each other, and he was a paladin of all things, dedicated to eliminating the scourge.

The two sailed across the ocean, back to Kalimdor. Crossing the Great Sea by ship was much slower than by a zeppelin, but it allowed for some down time that was rare otherwise and even a relaxing moment or two. Fennil took the time to work on various pieces of jewelry during the day; intricately wrapped wire rings and gemstones inlaid in pendants most of the time, occasionally stopping to chat with other passengers. 

Days on board were not kind, however. While on shore there was always the risk of attacks from the Alliance, animals, and other shady characters, stuck on a ship in the middle of the ocean were other horrid things to contend with that could not simply be solved with the usual ‘kill it until it’s no longer a problem’ tactic that Amazil was so fond of; Fennil less so. Amazil understood and had even faced herself the magic addiction all Sin’Dorei had to deal with many years herself, it was something of the distant past for her that the death knight was only reminded of in passing on her way to the galley kitchen aboard the ship. Fennil sat on a hammock with his hands at his temples and arms stiffly braced with his elbows on his knees, resisting the urge to drain magic from something, anything that would suffice. If memory served correctly, it was something like an empty pit that needed to be filled or an itch that couldn’t be scratched in comparison; always there and gnawing just waiting for a young and stupid blood elf to give in and take more than one could control.

A young and stupid blood elf like Fennil, perhaps. 

It would have been a shame for him to become one of the wretched, she thought, watching him eventually relax and then return to his jewelcrafting spread across the side table from yesterday evening. He had plans for his life; a family back at Silvermoon who seemed to care about him, judging by the overflowing amount of letters in his pack, more than Amazil could say for herself. She had lived so long ago and been dead for quite some time before being raised by Arthas. If any of her family had even survived surely they had all long since perished by now. 

But becoming a death knight, by choice or not, didn’t mean she was free of those pangs of need that were so familiar in life. No, all death knights, regardless of former race, they felt the same need too and it was worse than needing to feed on a little magic.

Death Knights always needed to inflict some form of violence and suffering upon the world. It was a fact of their existence, the entire reason Arthas raised them in the first place. They were the perfect army: they had to keep killing, torturing, and pillaging to keep their sanity. Even now, she could feel the onset of pain only staved off by inflicting it on others, and could only hope that they would dock soon and someone would have some stupid quest she could do, like slaying lions or collecting bear asses, anything that involved killing something.

Lots of somethings.


	3. Chapter 3

After that hellish boat ride, situations were not much better. While his new traveling companion was a Death Knight, and a strong one at that, she was out of practice. Judging by her sword alone, that had to be at least as old as Fennil himself, he estimated she’d been dead a long time before Arthas raised her up. 

Fennil didn’t dare ask her that to her face, however. Amazil unnerved the absolute hell out of him in so much that she did, from simply waiting for some quest giver to finish their endless rambling to the way she’d silently watch him whenever he wandered off to sell his jewelry in town. It was almost as if she was an empty suit of armor, not a person watching his every move. It was like that when they were in combat too; she was always watching and it was rather frustrating. How was he supposed to concentrate on fighting if she won’t even do that and then he has to concentrate on when to heal her? 

And just as he feared, she took a hard hit and got hurt, badly. Really really badly. One cleave from an axe and her arm was more torn off then sliced, the bone crushed and splintered in a gory mess. She hardly seemed to flinch, other than turning a moment to look at the now stump of an arm before unleashing a torrent of diseases upon her assailant until they collapsed and died slowly on the ground. Finally, Fennil managed to snap out of the pure and utter shock he was in and rushed over, already casting holy healing spells while swearing under his breath, cursing himself for being frozen in place for so long. The second his hands illuminated with light touched her skin, however, that was when Amazil let out a shriek of pain and jerked away from him. 

“I’m sorry, it’ll only take a few seconds!” He held the wound, trying to close it, but the death knight pushed him off of her and seemed to calm down as soon as he wasn’t trying to heal her. Confused, he swallowed the lump in his throat and picked up the severed arm while she tore off the heavy plate armor and tossed it to the ground in a huff. The arm was far from the only injury she had, and the woman seemed to ignore them all as minor inconveniences as she dug around in her bags for a healing potion.

“Give me that.” Her cold blue eyes snapped to Fennil when she found one, and meekly he handed her the arm. Without any sort of care, she just jammed the limb back into place and poured the potion onto it and watched as bones and muscle under the flesh wove back together and into place, then finally the skin stitched itself together. She did the same for the rest of her injuries, not even bothering to drink the potion and instead tossing away the glass vial to shatter on the ground when she was done. 

“Sit.” Fennil again did as he was told, more in shock than anything at the sheer audacity of her just shoving the limb back where it should have been and she wrapped a few cuts with a stray bandage. Amazil turned to him, her fingers tented and head low so that he couldn’t see her face underneath her helm.

“You mean well, I am sure of it.” She paused, voice more gravelly than usual. “But you cannot, and I mean cannot ever, ever heal me again.” Oh. The paladin tried to clear his throat, but he couldn’t get past the lump in it that formed at the thought in his mind that she didn’t want his help and that he screwed up somehow.

Even though he did, made evident by the death knight’s next words. 

“Did no one ever tell you that the light hurts the undead? It burns like fire, but in our souls.” The realization hit like a brick to the head. How could he have been so stupid? Of course it did, it was one of the first things he’d been told when he became a paladin in the first place! It was the very reason so many paladins and priests were being sent to Northrend to do battle against Arthas alongside his former knights.

How could he have forgotten and hurt her so badly for being such an idiot?! It wasn’t as if he forgot she was no longer living, Amazil hardly acted as such. He knew that much of the time she didn’t actually sleep but merely laid down anyway to get some rest, she rarely ate, it was as if she simply went through the motions of being alive as if it helped her to cope. After being caught in his thoughts, Fennil looked up from the ground to apologize, but the woman was gone. Standing quickly, Fennil looked around for her, distraught that she had just up and left like that.

Did his attempt to help her offend her so bad that she’d abandon him in this wasteland just like that? The man sighed, sitting back down on his pack for a moment only to hear something inside crunch as it broke under his weight. This simply was not his day, evidently. Slowly and hoping that it was nothing important he crushed, Fennil dug around in the bag and groaned at the sight. He’d crushed some of the weaker gemstones he would work with from time to time that were among the spare arms and weaponry in there. That was just about all he could take today. It was freezing out here, the snow hadn’t let up in days, the missions him and Amazil were bloody and with little reward, he probably screwed up the relationship with the one friend he had out here, and smashed his gemstones he was planning to sell so he’d have enough money to actually go home for Winter Veil!

The paladin rested his head on his knees, drawing in deep breaths to calm himself. For light’s sake, he was a grown man, not the practical child he was when he left Silvermoon, it should not have been such a draw on his emotions to be having a rough day anymore, right? At least, that’s what he asked himself. Fennil got startled by a warm tongue on his fingers and he looked up to see the flaming dog by his side, melting the snow around the two of them. Before he even had a chance to pat the little pup on the head, Emberbark ran off, disappearing into the white out. 

“Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.” He stood again, wrapped in his cloak that was torn nearly to ribbons and hardly worth any warmth it provided and followed the melted patches of snow where the dog had run through. Snowflakes bit into his skin, like pins and needles repeatedly jabbing at any exposed flesh. Still, he went on until he found the sight of a massive horse blocking the path with the little dog hanging from a saddle bag. Confused at first, Fennil reached out to the stallion, expecting it to rear up and kick if he came too close, but the massive beast instead nibbled on his hair the same way Amazil’s would.

It hit him then that this was Amazil’s deathcharger, and she must have put Emberbark in the bag, but he didn’t see her around at all and the snow was quickly filling the pockets of melted snow the dog had left when it ran over here. Taking the horse’s reins in his hands, Fennil whistled to call his own steed over and tied them to it’s saddle while he called out in the blizzard for Amazil. There were no footprints he could see, and no trail of blood or anything that he could to find the death knight in the white out.   
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,  
Despite that, he still called her again and again, desperately. As his hair froze to his armor and the small dog whined from in the bag, Fennil realized that he’d have to move on lest he want to freeze to death. Still, the death knight had,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, not returned for her horse who stood like a statue, unaffected by the cold. Slowly, the man climbed onto his horse, taking one last look around and started for the nearest town. Agmar’s Hammer was the closest, and though he hadn’t completed the job he was sent on yet, there was little choice.

Hopefully, she’d make her way there was well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much Fennil in this one until the end. There will be a lot more Amazil centric chapters in the future.

For hours now, the snow piled up on top of sheets of ice, winds picking it up into cascading swirls that danced between the frozen branches of trees. It was a strange beauty of the otherwise barren wastes of Dragonblight, but it didn’t occur to the death knight for more than a moment as she charged through the snow. Sword drawn and a whisper of a spell on her lips, she plunged the blade into the Scarlet Zealot and removed his head from his shoulders. She turned to another that began calling for help and unleashed a torrent of ice and disease upon them, decimating the now dead and cold body the moment the spell had left her lips. 

For a moment she swore she could hear the sound of Arthas’ approval on the wind, and stopped to listen. There was only the sound of her cold dead blood raging in her ears and the click of a crossbow being loaded. Another Scarlet crusader had heard the commotion, but within moments they too lay dead with their blood staining the once pure snow. With no thought to how many that she and Fennil were actually tasked to slay, she continued until no more came to the aid of their fallen allies or to seek revenge. All that was left was the howl of the wind and her standing in a circle of quickly freezing blood. 

It was much more often than she once would have liked that the once high elf had to go off alone to tame her bloodlust. More than the paladin knew, that was for sure. After such a grievous injury and the burn of the light on her skin she had little control left and ran off into the snow as soon as he was safe to tend to his own wounds, lest she want to kill him in her blind need for causing suffering and harm to the living. With it now under control, firmly buried under her cold exterior, she sat and gathered what she could use from the bodies. Rations for Fennil, as she didn’t need to eat, a few scraps of cloth, mostly garbage other than that and wasn’t worth even picking up from the snowy ground was left where it lay. 

‘You should have stayed. You would have made a fine knight.’ 

Amazil whirled around, but saw no one. 

‘Why even bother? You know that one day, you will return to my grasp. As will all the living in death.’ 

There was no one in sight, but high above, shadowed out by snow and clouds, she knew. Icecrown Citadel, where the Scourge swarmed out and blanketed all the deepest corners of Northrend with Arthas sitting on his frozen throne. A scowl grew upon the elf’s face and she shut out the whispers. The taunts. Though once she compared it to the magic addiction she once had long ago, there was no denying that it was a blessing compared to this hunger for others to suffer and die by her rune covered blade and knowing that as one of the Scourge, she’d never feel the pangs of it again. If she had, if she had stayed and not followed the paladins out of Light’s Hope, once her brethren long ago, all would fall before her under Arthas’ iron clad fist. 

The dark thoughts melted away. There was no reason to dwell here any longer, so she moved on. Trudging through knee deep snow, the cold nothing but a reminder that she could still feel, she worked her way to a path, semi cleared and covered by branches above that held the snow like a roof over her head. Amazil sighed, wiping some gore from her map, checking her location based on the stars peeking out from the clouds and winding trees. In her blinded wanderings looking for anything, anyone to kill, she’d crossed nearly all the way across the region. It would take hours to get back to Agmar’s Hammer, no doubt where Fennil had gone back to. If she were still living, making such a trek would be suicide in this storm, but she had no need to worry about herself. The cold was nothing but an inconvenience, starvation an impossibility, even sleep unneeded though it was an occasional comfort.

Often, she thought of how she must have looked like, sluggishly making her way back around through the snow with her ice encrusted armor. Surely, she must have seemed to any of the living as just another one of the frozen husks wandering the wastes. Another undead of some unknown person who died and surrendered their will to the Lich King. She’d seen a few of them, those close enough she killed, to end their misery in undeath, but others too far away or trapped in the snow she left alone, for they were little danger like this. Anyone with half a mind was tucked away in the few towns or their camps; they wouldn’t dare come out here like this. Even bundled in the warmest of cloth, eventually the cold’s icy fingers would always win and slowly but surely kill anyone foolish enough to try. Anyone living, that is. 

Agmar was quiet when she arrived. A fire in the center of the town had been reduced to nothing but smoldering ash and all the blacksmith’s forges burned out while they slept for the night. With no one to repair her armor, she shrugged and threw logs into the fires to do it herself. It was careful work, and noisy too. A few people had come in and out of the snow covered buildings, mostly guards to see the commotion but after seeing it was just another of the weary travelers they returned and shut their doors to trap what little warmth they had inside. Once she was done, she left her armor to cool and set, along with her runeblade and it’s freshly engraved frost runes. With little else to do, she spotted the stable and her deathcharger tied to the saddle of Fennil’s horse. That meant he did make it back here after all. Deciding to check on the horses before her companion, she approached them and untied the undead stallion. The massive beast pressed it’s cold snout into her hand and she gave it a quick pat before removing the armor that covered him, checking for wounds and untangling knots in his mane. She did the same to Fennil’s horse, brushing and laying a thick blanket over it to keep it warm. 

Freshly brushed and the hay refilled, the horses and other mounts happily ignored her. She was drawn to the armor that had been on Fennil’s horse, it was a sore reminder of the past. Unknowingly, she wrung her fingers and fiddled with the ring that she still wore after all these years, after all that had happened. The one who’d given it to her… Surely after all this time he was no more. Perhaps, like her, he’d perished and had been risen into Arthas’ ranks. Perhaps not. She had no reason to keep the token of love and affection from when she still breathed and her heart still beat, but something kept her from discarding it even still. Amazil stopped fiddling with the jewel encrusted ring and ran her hand over the gold plated horse armor and thought about the past life she could never have back.

His horse was larger than the one she had then and so too was the armor but it was still the same make, the same intricate filigree and patterns almost woven into the metal. The only difference was the colors- red instead of blue, like everything in Silvermoon was these days. So much had changed, but when she’d met the paladin she was glad to see that her people were once again acquainted with the holy light. Perhaps this time, despite the recent horrors of the Blood Knights cruelty, things would be like they once were. 

A traveler docking their mount interrupted her thoughts. The rogue merely said hello and talked about the cold for a moment before walking into town to rest. Some time ago the storm had let up and died into nothing more than gently falling flakes that fluttered to the ground silently. A great improvement from what felt like being blasted with icy shards to those who cared. 

Dawn was on the horizon and the town began stirring, the blacksmiths would begin their work again so she came to the center of town again to retrieve her items. Armor tucked under her arm, she came into the inn where many still slept in their beds, wrapped in fur blankets. Most of them she couldn’t even see their bodies, so she checked the ones she could for Fennil, but he must have bundled himself with a blanket over his face because she couldn’t find him. A scratching noise caught Amazil’s attention, too big to be a rat or a mouse. Following the noise to it’s source led to Fennil’s dog, scratching away at a door leading upstairs. It hadn’t been shut the last time she’d been here, but there must have been a reason for it, so she scooped the dog in her arms and took it to an empty cot. Along the way, she wondered if Fennil had taken the dog with him to Northrend specifically because it was so warm, or just because it had come with him so far. It made no difference to her, but Emberbark as he called it certainly did make a wonderful bedwarmer, being made of flame after all. With the comforting warmth of the dog laying on her chest while she lay in the cot, eventually she drifted off to sleep.

When she awoke, the dog was again scratching at the door upstairs. This time, Amazil opened it and followed it upstairs to the top of the tower overlooking Agmar. The room was full of orphans. Taunka, parents killed in the recent attack on their village, bundled in blankets and being tended by the Matron... and Fennil. So that was where he had gone. The light pulsed around his hands as he healed one of the babies, who coughed and whined for a moment until it began to coo and gurgle, reaching up to tug on his long hair. Amazil noted that he probably needed a haircut sometime soon, she’d given herself one with her knife some time ago. He didn’t seem to notice her, too busy tending to children. As she approached, the Matron gave Amazil a skeptical look, but said nothing. Fennil didn’t even turn when she sat next to him, armor clunking noisily. 

The room was silent other than wind outside and the child the Matron was feeding sucking on a bottle. Though he was still playing with the child, Fennil’s features were tense, his brow scrunched up and he finally turned to look at her for only a moment but then turned back to the child in his lap. 

“I’ll come check on you again later, okay? Yes, yes I will. Bye-bye.” He smiled and thanked the Matron once he was done baby talking the child, turning to leave without even a word to her. Amazil snorted. If here was where their traveling together ended, so be it. Once he had gone downstairs, she rose and made her way to the stairs herself, giving the matron a nod. She didn’t need anymore memories of the past that were threatening to surface again.

The day was slow, especially with Fennil evidently being mad at her. She mostly spent the day in the inn while he went about his business as if she wasn’t even there. Gathering ore when the weather was clear and sun high in the sky, not that it offered much warmth, or working on his jewelery. Amazil noted, even with a few cots between them, how much his skill had gone up. From simple wire wrapped gems, he was now soldering them into gold and silver settings and beautiful braided and woven bands. Still, he ignored her.

He ignored her through lunch and dinner, even a good portion of the night other than asking if the dog was with her, which indeed it was. Amazil could hear him roll over and cover himself with the blankets only to toss and turn trying to get comfortable.

“Fine.”

She looked over and he was getting up, mumbling to himself as he rounded a cot to sit on one next to her, so she propped herself up to listen to whatever he had to say. The paladin had his head in his hands and his ears were droopy, something that she’d noticed over the past day. 

“What even… what was that the other day?” He asked, looking up at her. “What was what?”

He looked around the room, mouth gaping like a fish trying to find the words. Throwing up his hands he stood to try and walk away, then whipped around pointed at her. 

“You left me alone in a blizzard, Amazil! I could have died out there!” That was why he was so angry? Amazil sighed, knowing he probably wouldn’t understand her reasoning, but what was done was done, it wasn’t as if she could go back in time- well, she probably could ask a favor of the Bronze dragons if she really wanted to but that was beside the point. Getting up from her rather quite comfortable position on the cot, she put the dog in her lap and tried to explain to him what happened.

The hunger and pangs. Fennil was… less than impressed by her reason for abandoning him at first. He was angry, but he was also living. It wasn’t as if the cold could kill her, and leaving him in the white out was probably a really bad idea, but both after some time were able to come to an understanding. It had already happened, but if they were to be a team, they’d have to work together. 

Their arguing and talking had woken the few others in the inn who growled threats if they didn't quiet down so they both returned to their respective cots, and unfortunately for Amazil, Fennil’s dog ran off to sleep with him. So much for her bedwarmer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another more Amazil centric chapter.  
> I've also been drawing art of them over on my tumblr, mritw-ramesess; you can find it all under the warcraft tag but there are some spoilers for what happens here.

The morning was better. With the air cleared and all their frustrations let out late in the night before, it was easier to talk about their issues, be it the arcane addiction or her own issues as a Death Knight. The world would not slow for them, though, Arthas did not care about the problems between a paladin and Death Knight, not did the war between the Alliance and Horde. Tensions were high as preparations were made for the battle at the Wrathgate. Fresh reinforcements from Silvermoon had arrived in Dragonblight, as did others from Orgrimmar, Undercity, the whole of Azeroth. 

Even with the ceasefire between the Alliance and Horde, it was short lasting. Easily broken. Skirmishes over land and resources, even over few outcroppings of valuable saronite erupted every few days. During the morning’s distribution of rations, Amazil overheard Fennil speaking to other paladins, older than him, but younger than herself. The Blood Knights, once her kin. Or given what had happened, ex Blood Knights and now regular paladins perhaps? She didn’t know the specifics of what their order was now, but she knew what it had once been. Slowly chewing a hard and probably too stale biscuit, she wondered if Fennil himself knew this, but didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

“Wait, you… You did what?” He had paled considerably, looking shocked at his fellow paladins and they seemed equally shocked by his lack of knowing. 

“You’re a paladin yourself, you should have been told that the first day.”   
“He seems a bit too young for that, Inris. When did you join the order Fennil?” One of the older paladins asked him. Both looked familiar, but all but the strongest memories from her life were blurry at best.

“A few months after the Sunwell was restored. I-I was going to be a ranger, but the Sunwell, it had to be a sign-” Inris, as he was called, interrupted him. 

“A sign? Ha! If you think that you’re much too young to know what happened when it was destroyed. The light abandoned us, but we got it back by making it into a tool, a weapon and that’s all it’s good for. Good riddance to that ‘Mu’ru’, I say. A load of trouble it was, sounding like broken glass any time I tried to cast a spell. You’d have done the same if you were strong enough for it” The two older paladins bickered ferociously, the one she didn’t catch his name telling Inris to go easy on Fennil, he was just a kid after all. 

Amazil rose from her seat and took one next to him, under the bench her hand resting on his leg while he stared down at the wooden surface of the table. Sure, he was young, but he didn’t deserve that kind of vicious blow. If she had to guess, he had to of been a child when the sunwell fell but the effects of such were surely known by all their kind. When she sat, the paladins fell silent, Inris looking upon her with his mouth agape. Fennil hardly seemed to notice them leaving, but his fists were clenched so hard it turned his knuckles white. Throughout the day he seemed to carry that anger with him, even as the Horde forces marched to the Wrathgate, glaring at the pair when they came near him even as the elder one told Inris to leave him alone already as the black haired man yelled about Fennil being an incompetent fool, a failure to the light, and a shame to their city.

Still, the world didn’t stop for their own problems. Waiting far behind the main forces screaming had erupted through the crowd, canisters thrown down into the bulk of the Horde and Alliance army by Forsaken, not caring if it be friend or foe who perished. Luckily, they were far enough behind to not be affected by the thick plague smog that seemed to melt the flesh of anyone unlucky enough to be caught within its tendrils. 

They fled with their shirts pulled over their faces on horseback with the few survivors once the beating of dragons’ wings filled the skies and smothered out the sounds of dying screams. Those who did survive were scattered, most not returning anywhere near the site in the past few days, but a few and far between healers did come to make an attempt to save any who were trapped at the Wrathgate. Surprisingly, Fennil was not one of them. He sat in the snow in front of Amazil, shaking. She knew it wasn’t because he was cold, either, but he did not speak for hours. When he finally did, it was only a handful of words, just to let her know that he was leaving for a moment, and would be back in a few minutes. 

He was true to his word, coming back without much of his armor, to which Amazil raised an eyebrow at. The paladin seemed to slowly come back to the world and become himself. 

“I’m not wearing the Blood Knight armor. Not anymore.” She just nodded at his words and turned to look in the direction of Icecrown. Both Alliance and Horde suffered tremendous casualties today, but so did Arthas. Arthas himself was actually wounded, despite it’s cost and the atrocities that came with it. The very air had seemed to change, as if the Lich King retreating to his fortress to lick his wounds had made the entire continent a bit more hospitable, less soul sucking and dead. 

Amazil noticed that she didn’t have to put as much effort into blocking the whispers of the Lich King either. The time to strike would be soon, before he had recovered from his wounds, because no doubt those that died at the gate would immediately be risen into his ranks to bolster the defences around the enormous saronite fortress. But first, Fennil would need new armor, because now he most certainly was shivering due to the cold, not shock, as he sat in the snow and used it to scrub grime off of his remaining armor until his ungloved hands were raw. At this rate, he was going to give himself frostbite. 

Amazil kneeled down in front of him, taking his hands in hers and lifting him to his feet. By the sunwell, his hands were freezing. True enough, they were pale aside from the scuffs and scrapes that burned a bright red. He averted his eyes, wrapping his hands in in his cloak as he wrapped it around himself. 

“Your tabard-” Amazil began. He had it a little while ago, but Fennil shook his head. Apparently he destroyed it along with the rest of his armor. While she admired his… reevaluation of his morals, now was not the time for him to freeze to death, at the very least he could have waited until they got to a town or something, but they’d probably be too busy dealing with the survivors now that she thought about it a bit more. Distracted by her own thoughts, Amazil only snapped out of it when Fennil caught her attention.

“Amazil, what happened to your bag?” She turned to him, and he was inspecting the saddle on her charger. On the steed’s right side. The bag that had the tent. And the food. She came over to inspect it herself, luckily the saddle itself was fine, and the horse too, but the bag had been torn or cut off, most likely during the scramble to get away from the plague. That many weapons out at once, prepared for battle, it probably got snagged on a spear or axe. 

“We’ll just have to make due. I still have one.” Fennil was already unpacking his bag and setting up the tent, draping it over a low hanging branch and kicking at the snow to pin it down. While still somewhat out of it and his voice sounding dead, at least he was competent enough to think ahead. It wasn’t long after they’d dug all the snow out from the inside and lit a fire that both realized another issue- They had their own separate tents for a reason. They weren’t big enough for two, and neither one was that comfortable with each other. 

Generously, Fennil offered for her to take it. “I’ll just stay out here, by the fire.” A noble gesture, but no, that wasn’t going to happen and Amazil made that clear.

“I am dead, remember? I’ll be fine.” The paladin snorted. “That wasn’t an accident back there, Amazil, we were attacked. You’ll be exposed out here.” Saying that, he tossed a pile of brush over the tent to disguise it as little more than a pile in the snow. Amazil began doing the same with their other bags of supplies, covering them and their tracks up. Still, she had a quip for Fennil.

“I am much more experienced than you, lecturing me is pointless.” He froze for a second, and then went back to work, shoving the blanket in the tent and laying it out to cover the bottom. It seemed as though he made up his mind on who’d get the tent when he patted the small space next to him.

“We’ll just share. It’s just for a night anyway, right?” She stared at him as if he had two heads for a long minute before climbing in upon seeing smoke on the horizon. The fire got kicked out in a pile of snow as a group of soldiers passed by, not even seeing them or the horses only a few yards away. Or maybe they just didn’t care, but the two of them were quiet, just in case. Once they were surely out of earshot, Fennil nudged the death knight under the ribs. 

“The Forsaken, it was them who did this, right?” The way his voice sounded was just… sad. Broken and scared. Amazil looked at him and saw the look she expected on his face and it answered a lot of things she’d wondered about him before- like how much death he’d seen before. Certainly. That had to be the most only a few days ago. And from their own allies as well. So many fell, choking on poisonous fumes and their own blood. Trampled beneath the feet of people trying to escape their own fate, hit with weapons meant for the scourge as their owners fled.

“I saw them, yes, but I don’t know if it was just them, or other forces within the Horde as well.” She answered. It was true though; there was no way of knowing right now if even the whole of the Forsaken were acting together when they attacked or a few radicals who sought revenge above all else. There could have even been a split with other Horde forces as well, but only time could tell. 

Fennil started warming his hands with his breath when he started talking again; rambling mostly. “I didn’t think that… Well, that they’d do something like that. We can only take down Arthas as a whole, that’s why we’re working with the Alliance right now, even if they’re our enemies.” Her thoughts interrupted her listening to his words. 

The Alliance as enemies. He spoke as if they’d always been such to their people, but perhaps at least in his lifetime, they had been. Once it wasn’t the case though, and she remembered that. It wasn’t the most ideal of situations at the time, but allying with them was better than the orcs who at the time were busy bombing their city with dragons and those accursed Amani trolls. Amazil remembered what Silvermoon used to be. While a major and huge city on it’s own today, decades ago it was truly a splendor and likely even dwarfed Stormwind. It had such beauty, and every time she’d gone to Lordearon there was a deep pain in her chest because she couldn’t let go of the memories of what used to be there. She realized Fennil was still talking and she looked back up at him, getting a particularly painful feeling on realizing that he’d never known the true glory of the Quel’dorei- no. No, her people weren’t called that anymore. Sin’dorei. That was it. His eyes were proof of that themselves, burning like felfire. Fennil, she figured, was probably too young to of ever tapped fel himself, maybe he was even born with it, she truly didn’t know him that well to know for sure.

“Amazil… Are… you alright? Amazil.” He was asking her a question and she still wasn’t paying attention. 

“Yes- I’m fine, just tired. My apologies.” He didn’t seem convinced, but shrugged and laid down. “You can take that side, I’ll take this one.” Fennil said, wrapping himself in his cloak. It really wouldn’t of mattered to say that or not anyway though, the tent was so small their backs touched anyway and unless one of them wanted to knock the sides of the tent loose trying to give the other more personal space, there wasn’t anything either of them could do about it. 

Just as she was falling asleep and thought that he was too, he spoke up again. Amazil was annoyed at first, but listened to his words carefully this time instead of getting distracted like last time. 

“If you need anything, I’m here. Just… kick me or something.”


	6. Chapter 6

In stories after something awful, things generally looked up. Not the case in real life. Before even opening his eyes, Fennil knew he was going to be sore from sleeping on the ground and he didn’t use his bag as a pillow either- he definitely had a crick in his neck. He groaned, propping himself up and brushing the tangled mess that was his hair out of his face with his fingers and- oh. 

Amazil was a lot closer than when he’d gone to sleep. Did he sleep on top of her or something? Luckily, she still seemed to be asleep, so quietly he got up and exited the tent to check on the horses and start a fire to cook up something for breakfast. He’d already killed, gutted, and was working on de-feathering a buzzard by the time he could hear Amazil stirring and sure enough, a few minutes later she came out of the tent, rebraiding her hair. 

“Morning.” 

“Good morning.”

She sat beside him, still sleep in her eyes and a yawn on her lips as she woke up. Flipping the bird over, he started working on plucking out feathers on its back when Amazil held out her hand to take it from him. Tired of plucking feathers and hungry, he washed his hands off in the pot of water he had going over the fire. It wasn’t warm yet by any means, only a pile of snow a few minutes ago, but it was something. 

“Don’t do that.” He turned back to Amazil, about to ask her what she was talking about. She smirked, ripping out a handful of feathers and elaborated. “You’re hands are cold enough already, you don’t need to make it worse.” Just like that, the paladin could feel his ears burning with embarrassment. So she had been awake- at least enough to know he’d been curled up on top of her and knowing himself and how his pillow usually looked, probably a drooling slobbering mess. 

“S-Sorry. About… yeah that.” Everything but her was suddenly so interesting to look at. That rock over there, that branch, there was a deer a few yards away, how interesting. Amazil laughed at his flustered state while she prepared breakfast, which was probably for the better, he was a terrible cook. They ate and began to pack up the camp, gathering their strewn supplies half buried in the snow to prepare to move on. Anywhere but Dragonblight would be alright, there was just… too much to deal with here. 

Fennil was surprised that the death knight was sticking with him so long, even though he’d spent the last four days doing nothing but drinking and sleeping at the inn. The two had made their way back to Orgrimmar by ship. Ordinarily deserting was a hefty crime, but many familiar faces had cropped up in the city since the disaster at Wrathgate, and news of the disaster had spread. Other matters were certainly on everyone's minds that were much more important as well. Something was going on in the Undercity, so travel to there and from Orgrimmar had come to a complete halt, and that also left two choices on going home- Take the long way through the Plaguelands, or not go at all. Fennil had chosen the latter, instead writing another one of his letters to his family. 

‘I may not be home for Winterveil, something is happening with the Forsaken. I can’t say much, and what I know you probably do already.’ He put down the quill and took another drink, eyeing Amazil in the corner of the inn, preoccupied with her own meal and the dog. ‘If I am able to make it, I may bring someone with me, it’s not as if…- He lost his train of thought, clouded by alcohol and scrapped the letter entirely, beginning a new one. 

‘I probably won’t make it home for holiday, Minn’da. There’s a lot going on and I’m sure you know, I can’t speak on the matter. If I am able, I may bring a friend. How has Kyrel’s training been going? I haven’t heard from you in a long time.’ He signed the letter and sealed it, stumbling over to the mailbox outside and putting it in, not even thinking that if seasoned warriors were having issue traveling to Quel’thalas, then a humble postal worker would certainly having issues as well. The paladin stumbled back in, loudly sitting in a seat across from Amazil and bluntly making his drunken thoughts clear. 

“Ama, you don’t talk much.” She raised an eyebrow at him and her ears flickered as she chewed.“You- You don’t. I talk a lot, and you hardly say anything.” Fennil continued. 

“I’m eating, and you’re drunk.” She went back to her meal just like that, taking a large scoop of her soup and looked away from him. He frowned, taking a large gulp of his beer, which admittedly, was absolute swill, unlike the fine wines of Silvermoon. 

“What does my being drunk haveta do with it?” He pointed a finger at Amazil and she lowered her spoon. 

“If, if there was even anything to talk about right now, would you even remember it? You should slow down, else you want to not be able to afford new armor.” He ignored the last part, because Fennil had seen her spend just as much if not more on alcohol as he had in four days by herself in one sitting. His drunk mind began to wander- maybe it was because she was undead that she could out drink an orc, but then he remembered her quip.

“Who’s says I won’t remember?”

“Do you remember that day in Stranglethorn? After the ‘raptor’?” Amazil asked him, a smile growing on her face. Why was she smiling? He thought a second, right now a lot of things were fuzzy. 

“When I puked over half of Booty Bay? Not really.” 

“My point exactly.” A few other people in the tavern chuckled, so he turned to tell them to shut up, spilling his drink in the process. There was a familiar face though, another elf. His name completely escaped the paladin at the moment, but Fennil knew him from somewhere. He got up and used a nearby chair to keep his balance, making his way over to him and sat at his table, pointing a finger at him. 

“You’re that guy... “ He started, having a little trouble finding the words. “From Agmar, before the Wrathgate.” Quite a few of the other patrons in the tavern ceased talking, looking down at their drinks or fell into hushed whispers. The elf before him seemed to flinch as if he'd been struck.

“Yes? And what of it?” The man bit out the words in anger at him, and normally Fennil would have flinched or backed off at angering someone who was clearly older and had so much more experience than he, but the paladin just took another swig of his liquid bravery and began to chide the man. 

“You, are an ass.” He spat, just about poking the man in the face with an accusing finger. “What- What even was your problem, I didndo anything to you!” Fennil laughed as he leaned back in the chair, sprawling out to take another sip. “-Your friend, what’s ‘is name, he even told you to stop being such a-” He heard a chair scraping across the floor and was briefly aware of the room spinning more than it should have been.

For some reason his face was wet and he was on the floor. The paladin rubbed the wet spot with his hand and it came back red with blood, stunned that for some reason he was bleeding, he hardly noticed that Amazil had gotten up and swung a punch of her own at the other paladin, telling him off until he left, lest he want to be a frozen husk. The man left after tossing down some gold to cover his tab, swearing all the way. Amazil pulled Fennil up off the ground and looked at his wound, caused by the other man's ring. It wasn’t deep but more than just a scratch; it would probably leave a rather large scar if he didn’t heal it. 

He lifted his hands to do so, but nothing happened. The paladin grumbled about how ‘it still wouldn’t work’, and Amazil began to understand why he was such a mess right now. Apparently the raven haired elf’s words in Agmar had gotten to him a lot more than he had let on. He questioned the Light, and lost faith. For someone so dedicated to it, praying to the light for its blessings every morning, it had to of been a hard blow and for the first time, he seemed to let on to his true emotions about it, sitting back down and wiping the blood with his shirt. 

The tavern maid wasn’t so happy with him bleeding all over her floor, snapping at him to clean himself up but Fennil ignored her, continuing to drink and pluck a piece of meat out of Amazil’s bowl. Just as the woman was about to snap at him again, Amazil pulled out more than enough coins to cover both their tabs and grabbed him by the arm. He stumbled after her as they left the tavern, one hand still pressed to his bleeding cheek. 

From there, the two wandered Orgrimmar. Not being able to use the Light was a serious blow to Fennil’s ego, and he was of little use in battle like that. He would be even less useful sick from drinking too much too often as well, and the Death Knight finally became fed up, taking his flask and downing it herself. If there was no more to drink, he couldn’t do it himself. Surely annoyed, huffing and nostrils flared, he sat next to a cactus on the side of the road and she joined him, tossing the empty flask away to break in the dirt. 

“Screw the Blood Knights.” Was all he said, head in his hands. Amazil put a hand on his shoulder while he rubbed his temples as a hangover began to overcome him after the hours of drinking. “Just- I do not wish to be a part of that, even if they say things are better now, clearly… Not the case.” Inris, that had to be who he was talking about. She was about to tell him just why the man was so angry, lost memories having resurfaced when she focused, when he interrupted her before she even began.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I- I don’t understand how you do it, Amazil. Th-there’s just…” She waited for him to find the words. “I don’t mean this out of tone, but no one likes having the Death Knights around, but you don’t care and keep… keep going. How? It was always the same with the Blood Knights, and I thought I could shake them off too but I just can’t…” Fennil trailed off into a whisper, instead groaning about his aching head and how he wished he could heal it. While bluntly said, he was correct and she understood the notion he was trying to get at, or at least the sentiment behind it. She rubbed his shoulder, trying to ease him a bit.

“When I left Arthas’ control, I was shocked our people had split and worked for the Horde. When I came to Orgrimmar, many threatened to have me hanged or burned. It was the same when I tried to see anyone in Silvermoon as well, until I proved myself to be truly working for the Horde.” She looked down at her feet, studying the intricate patterns in her plate boots. “The Blood Knights dealt with the same, back when their organization was new and still, many do not like them. But it is a part of life, Fennil. You chose this path, and you had to of known what you were getting into. I did not choose this.” She chided him for daring to compare his path to the absolute torture she was subjected to in being raised into undeath. The paladin snapped to attention, looking up with sad eyes and a quivering lip, like a child. He was much too old to keep acting like that and be taken seriously, if he wanted to-

She stopped her train of thought. Everyone dealt with grief differently, and he was not dealing with it well at all. As he looked back down to the dirt, rubbing the wound that had scabbed over, she patted his shoulder again to get his attention. 

“Fennil, you mean well, but you must get a thicker skin. We are at war. People will die, suffer, and be cruel. These are facts, but what you do with it is up to you. You can be cruel and mean like Inris, or work for it to be better for everyone.” She stood, taking a few paces down the road. “It’s your choice.” 

He looked up at her, but didn’t move from his spot. “Where are you going?” Was all he asked, quietly. “I have some things to do, I will meet you back at the inn later.” Amazil turned to go do her ‘errands’, but he called after her.

“You’re staying, after all that?” The doubt was written clear as day on his face. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him. “Yes,” She responded. “You can hardly take care of yourself right now, I won’t subject you to that.” For a moment it seemed as though his mood lifted, but she didn’t catch if he was smiling or not, instead leaving to go catch up with that other paladin. She had questions for him. 

\---

He was easily found, not that he seemed to hide. She came up behind the black haired elf, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

“And here I thought you’d never deal with trolls so long as your heart still beat.” She said it with a smile, remembering times long since passed. Inris grumbled, taking a long drag of his bloodthistle. 

“You’ve hardly changed, Amazil.” He blew a large cloud of smoke in her face with disdain, still angry about their previous encounter. She took a seat on a barrel of rice as trolls wandered to and fro about the slums. She had to give it to them though, they knew how to get anything and everything. How they managed to get bloodthistle to grow in such a dry arid area, or get it shipped from Quel’thalas, she’d never know. 

“Do you require something, or are you just going to toss me about on the whim of that blonde brat?” Inris spat out, taking another drag of the smoldering herb. She frowned, hitting him in the shoulder. 

“Don’t be so crass, you were like him once. And for the record, you did strike him first.” At this he laughed wholeheartedly. “If I remain so now, I’d have to ask you to kill me on the spot.” Jokes aside, she did seek him out for a reason. Amazil took off her gloves, showing him the ring and he fell completely silent.

“You know what I'm going to ask, don't you?” Inris nodded, running a hand through his hair. His answer was much less than she had expected and disappointing, he had been her only lead so far.

“I haven't seen Vya in decades, to be honest. Allir was the last to- Even that was a long time ago.” Inris’ words were clipped and short but she pressed on. “And Limaele?” He shook his head but even so his ears pinned back, from stress or anger Amazil wasn't sure.

“I honestly don't even know if she's still alive.” There was no point to continue asking then. If their fates were unknown, surely the boy's was as well. She began to ask one final question before bidding a former friend farewell and his eyes darkened and became full of hate.

“Where is Allir?” The paladin who'd been with him in Northrend, the last tie to her old life, only remembered recently. Inris threw down his bloodthistle, drawing too close for comfort and glared down the bridge of his nose at her.

“Allir is dead, thanks to scourge, but I'm sure you know nothing about that.” With those final words, he left, stomping down the wooden bridge and shoved a troll much larger than himself out of the way, who only threw up his hands and continued on. 

Neither her nor Fennil saw hide nor tail of Inris again in the coming weeks, rumor had it he'd gone back to Northrend to join the Argent Crusade in the far north of Icecrown, but there was little reason to keep track of him any more. After all, he did see her as one in the same with the Scourge still, and the Forsaken as well. Not exactly pleasant company to have around.

Amazil’s worries about Fennil had been proven correct though, upon discovery he'd lost touch with the Light and was useless as a healer, he'd been discharged. Sure, he could still swing a sword, but he had no heart in it, spending his days lounging around and writing to his family or doing his jewelcrafting work. Even the quality of his gems had suffered. Instead of the quite magnificent pendants and rings he was making only a month or two ago, he was back to simple wire wrapped citrine and malachite that he sold for coppers. Hardly enough to even buy a meal, so he floated on with the money he'd accumulated from working in Northrend instead but surely it would run out soon. 

She was growing tired of being still. There were still plenty of things to kill and slaughter in the desert, but it wasn't the same as a full scale battle and hardly useful to anyone aside the cook who called for additional rations every week. Amazil came back from delivering the slabs of boar meat to the chef and taking the dog for a stroll across the city to find Fennil sober for probably the first time in days, reading a letter. 

“What is that?” She asked, sitting next to him and he showed her. A letter from his sister, asking if he’d come home now that transport between Kalimdor and the Undercity was open again. The confusion and battle there had died down, so it was possible that he could go home safely again. Amazil read it over and gave the letter back to Fennil. “Are you going?” He shrugged a bit, taking a long sip of his water. 

“I want to, I haven’t seen them in, ah, a year? Perhaps more.” He seemed to have a lot on his mind. “What’s stopping you?” Fennil took another sip of water as if he was avoiding having to inevitably answer. Amazil simply waited, if he wanted to tell her, if he didn’t, it was up to him. He sure seemed to be taking a long while figuring that out, though, folding the letter up and tucking it into his shirt, ordering another drink, or looking around the inn. She was about to get up when he grabbed her wrist. 

“Forgive me if this is too forward, but…” Strange, he wouldn’t look at her at all. “-I’d like it if you came with me. I don’t want to go alone.” Fennil let go of Amazil’s wrist and looked away. Like they always did when he was nervous or upset, his ears drooped downward. She felt for him, really, and had a good guess as to why he was nervous about asking. A former high elf, in Silvermoon City? A reminder of all that had happened in the recent decades and the devastation? Of course it was something bold to ask. 

“I don’t see why not. I haven’t been home in such a long time.” Home. His ears snapped up to attention at that. A small smile grew on his face and he got up. “Why not go sooner than later, then? I missed Winterveil and I promised Kyrel I would go.” Amazil chuckled, he seemed very fond of his younger sister. 

\---

Along the way, their horses trodding down the the cobblestone outside of Brill, she asked what his family was like and the old Fennil really seemed to come out again. He talked on and on about how well Kyrel was doing as a ranger, following in his parents’ footsteps, unlike him and how he was sure that his father had been at least a little disappointed that they wouldn’t be patrolling Eversong Woods together, even if the man didn’t say so.

“They had even gotten me a bow, a new one, not the one I had since I was a child. It was absolutely gorgeous, beautiful red wood and the strongest string I’d ever seen.” He rambled and she smiled. 

“What did you do with it?” 

“I gave it to Kyrel, she has much more use of it than I do. Imagine, a paladin wielding a bow, it’s just not right.” They both laughed at the image of that, it sure would be a funny sight. At the translocation orb they dismounted, leading the horses through and on the other side, Fennil took a deep breath of the crisp Quel’thalas air that even in Sunfury Spire was sweet and fresh. Amazil went along ahead, nodding at their Regent as he bickered with the Grand Magister and Ranger General, but none seemed to notice. She highly doubted any of them would remember the one time they’d crossed paths in battle anyway, it was so long ago and neither had even spoke. The white haired man had been in charge of the survivors before becoming regent, and that included her. Her, her then husband, the families and grieving people who demanded retribution for the inhumane attack upon their land. She lost herself in the faded memories of life, watching them lead them to strike down the dead, the formation of the Blood Knights, the months that followed before her death and leaving it all behind. 

Fennil continued to explain when they exited Silvermoon that his family lived on the outskirts of Quel’thalas, near the borders of the Ghostlands protected amongst the hills and the river, along the shore. It was peaceful if a bit of a boring ride for him, all the sights were familiar. He grew up among the forest that surrounded them, climbed the trees that towered above, ran in the clearings with friends and his family. For Amazil, though, it was all relatively new. She hadn’t been here since she was alive, and everything had changed. Where slow rolling fields and scattered trees were now, they once were villages and houses. Not even any remnants of the old houses remained, long since turned to dust or the left overs were used to reconstruct new buildings. 

“There it is.” She looked ahead, seeing the small house in the clearing. It was quaint, just enough for a family of four. A small stable and woodshed sat just outside and a dragonhawk roosted within, ignoring both of them as they hitched the horses. The bang of a door opening caught both of their attention, just as he was turning around, a young blood elf crashed into Fennil, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her level to greet him. 

“You're finally home, thank the Sunwell.” Fennil laughed, removing his sister's vice like grip and gave her a hug, lifting her up. “I am, and look at you! They've already given you the armor?”

A deep chuckle from outside the stable altered them they weren't alone. “She hasn't taken it off in days.” A man with deep brown hair, like Fennil's sister, stood there and upend his arms. Fennil came to hug him, catching up with his family. 

“Where is mom?”

“She's inside, she's been cleaning up a storm since we got your letter that you'd be bringing a guest.” The man nodded to Amazil. “Where are my manners, I'm Fennil’s father, Melthas.” She shook his hand and he laughed. 

“An iron grip. Must be quite the warrior.” Melthas didn't at all seemed concerned that she was a death knight, and her growing suspicion was confirmed upon coming inside the quaint home. Fennil already had his mother in a hug, and she turned to pull her into one as well. 

“You must be Amazil, Fennil has written quite a bit about you.” She smiled and continued. “We can't thank you enough for keeping our boy out of trouble. Let me tell you, the things he's done-”

“Minn’da…”

“-Celana, please. Let's not embarrass him in front of our guest.” Melthas interrupted, placing his hands on his wife's shoulders. They talked about daily life, Kyrel’s training to be a ranger, and thankfully, nothing about Northrend or her being a Death Knight. Evening came and went along with dinner, wonderfully prepared by Melthas. He chided Fennil on that he never learned to cook for himself, but it was all in good fun. 

After the meal was done and dishes cleaned, Amazil wandered outside to take it all in. Fennil's family was just as loving and caring as he made it seem in all the times he'd talked about them, and she could easily see where he got it from. She missed that. Rounding the corner on the back of the house to walk down to the beach, Amazil came across a peculiar sight. Fennil's sister, only a few years younger than he was, was with another Blood elf and both jumped upon seeing her. She said nothing but raised an eyebrow as the man dusted himself off and nodded at Kyrel before leaving a little too fast for a guiltless man. 

Kyrel started pleading with Amazil as she watched him take his dragonhawk and leave. “Please don't tell my mother, she'll skin him alive.” Amazil laughed. “About what? All I saw is you coming down to the beach with me.” Kyrel let out a deep sigh and thanked her as they walked to the beach. 

“I cannot thank you enough.” The ranger to be let out a deep breath as she sat in the sand. Amazil joined her on the ground and they stared across the ocean in the dim light. She turned to Amazil, asking her a question. 

“So what is your relationship with my brother, anyway?” Kyrel didn't seem to believe her answer.

“We fight and travel together, little else.”

“Else?” Amazil began to question just what Fennil had said about her in his letters. At times he did seem interested in her as more than a friend, but any time he seemed to make a move it was as if he chickened out. Offering her the occasional gift as if it were a passing thought, though how his ear tips reddened always betrayed him, or comforting words and plans for their next actions. To be honest with herself, Amazil couldn't see it happening. There was just too much going on. War, conflicts that arose faster than they were beaten down, differences in their ideals...

“He is a good friend, but like your mother said, he needs someone to keep him out of trouble.” 

After some time of them talking together, Fennil had come outside and sat with them quietly well into the night. When Kyrel left, suggestively saying she was giving them some privacy, Fennil threw a handful of sand in her direction, saying it wasn’t ‘like that’, confirming her earlier thoughts. Still, she took the opportunity to tease the paladin a moment. 

“Are you sure about that, Fennil? Your family seems convinced otherwise.” His ears reddened and he sputtered about their overactive imaginations.

“I swear, they've always been like this. Anyone who even looks my way, and they're making their snide little comments.” She laughed with him at that as he rambled about how past lovers had been harassed by his parents with probing questions, even one being cornered by his sister as she only at fourteen had demanded he marry Fennil. For a while they both just watched the ocean quietly and it's gently lapping waves upon the shore. It was peaceful, to finally relax.

The pair stayed a few days, Fennil taking his old room and Amazil opting to nap on the plush sofa in the tastefully decorated sitting room but the time finally came for them to leave. It was hugs all around, and Fennil's parents sent them off with bags full of fresh home cooked meals, something both of them had missed dearly. However, they planned to stay in Quel’thalas a few more days as Fennil wanted to see the Sunwell again before they left. They rode together back to Silvermoon, but unlike the ride on the way to his family's home, all the energy and life was gone from him again.

He must have been faking that he was more okay than he really was, Amazil determined. Fennil drooped and his ears sagged, instantly looking as if he hadn't slept in days. Even the dragonhawk ride to the island was quiet, unnaturally so for him who Ordinarily would ramble about any and everything even if no one was listening. With a lack of conversation Amazil distracted herself by taking in the sight of Sunwell Plateau restored.

It was far from the original’s true splendor, but clear to see that so much effort had gone into removing all trace of the destruction and travesty that had taken part there. Still, there was the occasion break or crack in the road obviously not due to time, or snapped limbs of trees that had not yet healed. Subtle, but clear as day to those who knew what they meant. What they represented. Perhaps they were from Arthas’s abominations, perhaps they were from demons who'd not so long ago poured from portals that their remains still occasionally dotted the land.

She could feel the knot in her stomach as they approached the doors leading into the Sunwell itself, the only sounds murmured prayers and the almost glistening rush of the fount of holy and arcane energies that lie in the middle of the otherwise darkened room. Amazil turned her eyes back to Fennil as they descended the ramp. There were many elves here, all joined at the edge of the Sunwell and taking in its holy energies.

She didn't dare come much closer than she already was. She remembered the burn from Fennil healing her, to get that close to a source of holy power, it was dangerous. And likely, so we're the ones gathered around it. Few looked up at them as they came in, but those that did in return she could feel the cautious glances and hateful glares. Couldn't they see that she was once one of them as well?

Perhaps not. She took a seat on the far side of the room, watching over Fennil as he prayed. He stayed like that, bent at the knee and his hair like a shroud around his face, silent and unmoving for some time. The only time he moved was to switch from kneeling to sitting when his legs got tired and his long steady breaths. Many of the elves that had been in there when they arrived had gone now and more filtered in to do the same as he'd come to do, to reacquaint with the Light they'd lost. 

It had been nearly two hours now, and Fennil still didn't move. Amazil sighed, rising up and slowly approaching him to sit by his side. The warmth that flowed out of the Sunwell was gentle, but she didn't risk dipping her hand into it like a small child nearby did before being snatched up by their mother and scolded for the disturbance. Amazil knew what would happen if she did.

Amazil found her thoughts wandering until she came into a loop of a familiar prayer, one from her days of life and joy. One known by all paladins at the time, and it repeated in her mind over and over again. It was soothing, so much in fact she hardly realized that the sun had already set until Fennil finally snapped her out of the trance like meditation, only nodding at her after a quick prod of his hand on her shoulder. Once they were out of the holy sight and boarding the dragonhawks to return to the city did either speak.

Over the rushing wind and crashing waves below them, Amazil asked if he'd found what he was looking for, but the way his voice strained with the single word made something deep inside her chest hurt.

“No.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wrathgate was devastating, and its effects long lasting and staying even after the fall of the Lich King.  
> Even if neither will admit it, unrest is brewing

Even before Arthas fell, there were signs. Signs that something wasn't right. Areas that normally had lots of rain were becoming dryer, the Barrens had begun to bloom in some places, the ground itself rumbled. Most shrugged it off as mere changes in the environment that happened from time to time; sometimes places got usual amounts of rain, other times there simply were droughts. It was a fact of life. 

But after the battle in Icecrown, things only began to grow worse. Doomsayers flooded major cities, crying about the end of days being upon them even before the first major earthquake struck. Before the worst of the storms and wildfires and floods. 

Before the very skies opened up and rained hell fire with the beat of torn and broken wings. 

Chaos reigned as the very elements turned on every man, woman, and child on Azeroth. It was then, In the moment after scattering a cult in the barrens, that Fennil realized just how truly small that everyone he knew, everyone he loved, every foe he'd ever faced was. How insignificant and powerless even the armies of undeath were. Fireballs screamed across the sky and scorched the earth as the sun itself was blocked out by choking black smoke. 

The fire didn't come from above, but below. The earth itself tearing apart on the horizon and spitting lava bombs that crashed back down with all the fury of fire and earth combined. Shrapnel was flung for miles in all directions and there was no escape as hot shards tore across skin with a sickening rip. 

Blood poured where the wound wasn't burned shut before it could truly open and he clamped his good hand over it, desperately trying to stop the flow of blood that relentlessly like a dam bursting pooled from between his fingers. Bandages, he needed bandages. There were some in his bag- but he'd put it down to pick up some discarded flasks, left by the cultists. The leather bag was blown away in the blast or buried under rubble, because he couldn't find it in the immediate area.

“AMAZIL!” He screamed, pointing at his arm when the woman turned around. Even beneath her helm he could see the fear in her eyes, so with some trouble, as his shoulder still wasn't fully healed from when the animal clawed him in the shoulder to get at the Silithid eggs he'd gathered for it, he climbed on top of the venomhide raptor and rode towards her. They needed to leave, now. Before he’d even gotten to her, Amazil had already summoned her steed and they were running north. The winds were carrying the sulfur filled clouds east, so it was only a matter of time before the air was clear and breathable again. 

Despite that, every movement made the paladin dizzier. Even with his hand clamped over most of the wound, it still gushed and dripped down his arm and he grew sickly pale. It wasn’t long before Fennil lost the strength to hold himself up and he slumped like a ragdoll over the raptor’s neck. Vaguely, he was aware of Amazil yelling at him and being tugged onto her lap, but everything was too blurry for him to concentrate. 

The death knight quickly tied a bandage from her own bag as tight as she could over his arm to keep what blood he had left in his body. Fortunately, he stayed conscious, eyes lazily looking about but returning to her whenever she tried to get his attention, even as she forced the deathcharger to ride and swim across the river separating the Barrens from Durotar. His raptor was on her death charger’s heels, screeching because the all too intelligent animal knew that something was wrong with it’s master. There were crowds gathered outside of Orgrimmar to watch the plumes of lava and smoke rising from across the river, blocking much of the way. Couldn’t they see that they needed a healer?

A shaman woman rushed over, pulling the paladin from her lap and laying him down on the ground. There was something sick about the way his head rolled limply, how shallow his breathing and clammy his skin had gotten. The shaman started healing his arm and the color started to return to Fennil’s skin. It took time and repeated healings, but he came back; groaning with pain Fennil thanked them both. While the orc tended to Fennil’s wounds, Amazil worked on her own. Much more minor in comparison, most that only needed bandages or a light burn salve and would be fine in a matter of days. While doing this, she looked over the river they’d just crossed.

There was no telling how much worse things could get in times to come. Attacks from elementals, cultists, and of course the broken Aspect of Earth Deathwing himself were upon the world, hell bent on reducing it to ash. The major powers of Azeroth had only just begun to regain their strength from taking down Arthas and his armies of undeath. Thousands were dead; while new recruits came in every day, there was no way for all that had perished to of been replaced by now. The Horde… The Alliance… Amazil feared that they wouldn't be able to set aside their differences long enough to overcome this. They barely had at Icecrown, according to those who had made it back alive broken and scarred in horrific ways. Some had scars caused by blights and plagues concocted by the mad doctors who served the Scourge, others with the marks of bites and claws of the skeletal dragons Arthas had enslaved into undeath. Apparently there was a battle between the two faction’s airships in the middle of the final fight as well. How could these two super powers possibly hold it together long enough for this?

Fennil snapped her back from her worries. She took a seat beside him as he sat up, futility trying to take over and heal his wound. That was another thing- it had been nearly a year now, and he still was disconnected from the Light. The only reason he'd even come on that mission was because he insisted so boldly and would have left alone if she didn't come with him. It was too important not to, he said. 

Amazil let the paladin lean against her for support, no doubt he was still woozy. She wrapped an arm around him to keep him upright even as he shivered at the chill of her armor.

“Are you alright?” He nodded as he leaned against her pauldron, pressing the cool metal to his still scarred cheek.

“I'm cold.” With a nod, she helped him to his feet and through the Orgrimmar gates. The inn was close by and once inside he sat himself down on the floor and took his dog into his arms, fully wrapping himself around the confused little pup. Emberbark licked his face and Amazil heard him quietly murmuring to it that he was alright and that he was sorry for making it worry. Even after almost bleeding to death he thought of others above himself.

\---

As he recovered, gaining back strength and an appetite to match, Fennil regularly insisted on getting out in the world again and helping people. Even if he couldn't heal and his fighting was subpar, he had to do something. 

“Amazil, please.” He was in the middle of changing his bandage, looking over the scar that was dominating a good portion of his lower arm. The death knight in question continued washing her hair of grime and soot, giving her usual answer. 

“I don't think it's a good idea, you're still wounded.” She paused. “And pass me the soap, you had it.” He handed it over as soon as all the bandage was unwrapped and discarded on the riverbank with the rest of their belongings. The Southfury river was cool and refreshing despite the sweltering desert sun, perfect for a hot day. They both figured why not kill two birds with one stone and bathe while taking a cool dip, it'd save time. 

Fennil sat on a rock in the shallow water behind her, only occasionally glancing her way, mostly because he'd never seen his companion without an almost full suit of armor on before. Amazil had so many scars and he couldn't help but wonder if they had stories behind them. Grand battles, duels, enemies whose heads she claimed. Certainly her scars were more interesting than the ones he had: a sharp rock blasted halfway across the savanna, an impatient raptor that decided to climb him like a tree, and getting clocked in the face by some haughty elf with a ring. At least that's what he was told about the scar stretching across half of his face once he was sober. He ran a finger over the now smooth but still discolored scar that ran from his jawbone diagonally up until it nearly reached his nose. Fennil laughed to himself when he remembered what a troll child had told him at the bank one day.

“Amazil, remember when that girl said I looked like our dear Lord Regent?” She laughed, turning slightly. 

“I do, and your horrendous imitation of him too.” 

He reached for the soap when she handed it back and started washing off the dried blood from the last time his wound opened up when a realization hit him. When had he and Amazil gotten so comfortable with each other that without question they were bathing together? It was a good thing that no one was around, lest the rumor mill be started about Orgrimmar’s perpetual tavern hoppers. Face reddening, he slid off his perch on the rock and stood in the waist deep water facing away from her. If maybe he pretended this was normal nothing embarrassing would happen. Amazil must have realized it too, because they dressed and returned to the inn in silence, though as he'd come to know his ears always, always betrayed him with the way they tingled, a tell tale sign they were flushing red no matter how much the paladin tried to quell it.

Upon arrival, they found an unexpected sight: Kyrel. Just as she had to him when they visited for a late Winterveil, Fennil just about knocked his sister down with a tight hug and they began to catch up. Kyrel introduced another ranger that was there with her, an old friend from training named Raaen. He waved at the pair and gave a nod of his head, which was mostly obscured by a chainmail hood and returned to brushing the lynx that sat at his feet, purring like a kitten.

“Oh it's been too long, Fennil.”

“Indeed it has, but why are you in Orgrimmar? You're a long way from home for someone who just graduated from the rangers.” Fennil pulled away from the embrace and motioned for her to join him at one of the tables, but Kyrel stopped him by grabbing his tabard.

“What's this, you're in a guild now?” She asked, looking over the deep blue and gold fabric. Fennil smoothed the fabric out again and nodded, pointing at Amazil who wore the same one, both of theirs much more ornate than an ordinary guild tabard.

“Yeah, we actually made one awhile back. To hell with the Blood Knights, we'll have our own order.” He explained and she smiled, looking back at Raaen. 

“Is this a paladin only situation, or would you like to have two more?” The hunter asked, to which Kyrel seemed to agree. Fennil looked to Amazil and she only shrugged. 

“It never was to begin with, there's no reason why not.” Fennil smiled at her response but quickly turned back to his sister as they sat down.

“You never did say why you were in Orgrimmar, by the way.”

Kyrel and Raaen looked to each other before he spoke up. 

“The warchief, Garrosh.” Raaen dropped into a more hushed tone, as if he was worried about spying ears. “He's called for all who are able to join the war effort, but if I'll be truthful, the earthquakes and fires, we do need everyone.” That was true indeed. The Horde would need every able body to fend off the elementals and cultists, and if there was one such planned, an eventual attack on Deathwing himself. Even repairing damage to the zones affected by the changes in the world would need experienced soldiers and guards in the event of Alliance attack while they were in this weakened state.

It was unsaid but known by all that it was a grim truth. Conflict with the Alliance was unavoidable these days as resources grew fewer and demands grew higher. Orgrimmar had grown too large for its supplies and the only thing keeping it from collapsing under the weight of its own growth was trade through the Barrens, but it had been disrupted for weeks now by the blazing canyon of molten lava that cleaved the region in half.

The time to move on was drawing ever nearer. 

\---

Spending time with his sister seemed to be doing Fennil a lot of good for his state of mind. He became less obsessed with his short comings; seeking to impress his sibling with even the small victories that he got each day. The paladin even began to pray to the Light again, rather than his silent meditation to curb what remained of the magic addiction. 

This morning found the small guild being woken by him whooping and hollering through the inn that he'd been able to heal again, even if it was just a small cut from slicing an apple for breakfast when the knife slipped and jabbed his finger. Evidently, he had not told Kyrel about his disconnection from the light because she chided him on not telling her something was wrong sooner, nor about the injuries hed sustained since, the young woman, just barely out of her teenage years, chiding him and threatening to smack her brother with a bow as she trapped him in a corner.

“Fennil, had I known-” He interrupted her quickly by saying he was alright now, and that was what mattered. His sister didn’t seem convinced, tugging on his sleeve to make him sit with her. They fell into shushed voices, hardly heard by the others in the inn and a dramatic change from only a few moments ago.

“Fennil, we have always been there for you, if something is going on… you can tell us, if mother and father knew, you know they’d have done everything in their power to make sure you were okay.” 

Fennil sighed deeply, he knew that she meant the best, but doing that wouldn’t have helped. “I know you mean well, but they would have told me to come home and insisted until I did. If I was at home, I would not have gotten any better any more than I have now; being out in the world has done a lot for me.” His eyes darted over to Amazil for only a moment before returning to Kyrel as he spoke. “I couldn’t just leave, there are things that I must do and take care of and I have to do them myself.” 

“That doesn’t mean you have to do them alone, we can help.” Rather than continue to argue with her, he simply hugged his sister and got up to fetch breakfast. 

“But how, Kyrel? The Light was gone from me because… because of my own issues. My own shortcomings. That’s not something that anyone else but myself can work to repair.” He spoke as they walked together through the city, Kyrel following shortly behind him as he looked for his favorite spot, the one with the best cinnamon buns on Kalimdor, in his opinion. Fennil stopped. 

“That’s odd.” 

“What?” 

He pointed to the little shop, that was now unlit and dark. Where was the baker? The tauren woman was nowhere to be seen, so he turned to one of the new Korkron guards who was stationed nearby to ask. 

“Ah, do you know what happened to the bakery that was here? I swear, it had been open a few days ago.” The orc eyed Fennil with a grunt and looked him up and down. He turned back to his post, but sneakily waved the pair to come closer. 

“Listen, paladin, things are changing within the Horde. By order of the Warchief himself, people are meant to keep within their own districts. Tauren in the Valley of Wisdom, Trolls in the Valley of Spirits, Goblins in the slums. It’d be within your best interest to do the same.” After those harsh words, the orc ignored all further questions, such as why or where they were supposed to go. Worrying for the others in the inn, both rushed back. Perhaps adventurers and loyal soldiers to the Horde were exempt from the ruling, but it wasn’t worth the risk should something happen. 

The inn was exactly as it had been left, though a few more of it’s patrons had woken up by now. Fennil took off his boots and quietly padded across the floor to Amazil’s hammock and shook the death knight awake. She blearily looked at him, questioning why he’d woken her from a rather peaceful early morning nap. Kyrel was doing the same to Raaen, though he proved much more stubborn to wake up, rolling over and wrapping himself in his blanket even more. 

“Fenn- What’s going on?” Amazil sat up and started putting on her day clothes. He didn’t answer for a moment, looking over the inn and its sleeping patrons. He didn’t want to think ill of the orcs resting here, but it seemed like it’d be best to move on in case someone decided to enforce Warchief Garrosh’s orders themselves. 

“We should go, I’ll… I’ll tell you later, but I don’t think we’ll be safe here.” With an incredulous look, she got ready and took her axe in hand, smacking the still sleeping ranger with it’s side and sending him tumbling to the floor. Raaen yelped like a lynx who’s paw had been stepped on and harshly glared at the others, but they were too busy packing and gathering their bags to notice the venomous look. When he finally was ready, still wiping sleep from his eyes, they mounted up and left the city behind. 

“Fennil, what is going on?” Amazil asked as soon as they were out of earshot of any of the laborers outside and nearing the chasm that lead to Razor Hill. Kyrel spoke up, bringing her hawkstrider up to speed with Amazil’s deathcharger. 

“We went to get breakfast, and a guard told us that it would be in our best interest to stick to our own districts, Warchief’s orders.” The death knight pulled on the reins and slowed the stallion, forcing the group to slow down. 

“The warchief ordered this?” 

Fennil nodded and turned his raptor around to circle back around the group, coming up to Amazil and laying a hand on her shoulder. She looked back to the city- since she'd left Arthas’s control, Orgrimmar was more a home than anything else had been since she had died. Her and Fennil had spent over a year together there, doing simple work or mercenary jobs between clashes with the Alliance since the Lich King had fallen. With a final look she returned the comforting shoulder pat and turned her horse to face the river that a few months ago they'd both crossed, fleeing for their lives. 

She addressed their tiny guild quickly, stating where they should go.

“Then we'll take refuge in Thunder Bluff, the break from the heat should do us all well.”

There was a muttered agreement on this, even as Raaen and Kyrel looked to Fennil for instruction as he followed her. They lagged behind as the other two led the group of four, making idle chatter among themselves. Raaen prodded her with a dowel he was working on turning into a deadly arrow. 

“I had been under the impression that your brother was in charge.” Kyrel stifled her laughter at that, leaning as close as she could without falling off of her hawkstrider.

“I have many stories about him from when we were younger that would show its clearly not the case.” Raaen almost snorted, looking back at their guildmasters who seemed unaware of the conversation taking place a few yards behind them.

“So he's a pushover then?” Raaen barely had time to make the sound of a whip cracking before Kyrel reached over to snatche the rod from the other ranger’s hands and smacked him with it, shouting for him to not bad mouth Fennil, which caused the paladin to actually turn around and see what the fuss was. 

“We don't have time for games; we should keep moving.” Amazil called back to them, set on the task at hand. If crossing the savanna was anywhere as dangerous as it had been before, it would likely be a few days before they got to the tauren city.

Though the volcanic eruption that had split the region into two was some time ago, the magma still raged below in the ravine it carved out. Unfortunately, they had to cross over it and dangerously close to the liquified earth and despite how he highly disagreed with doing so, for it would take less time, Fennil found himself shimmying across the ledge looking anywhere, absolutely anywhere but down. 

“-I know it would have taken a few more days, but couldn’t we have just gone around?” The paladin whined, staring straight up into the sky as a hot rock got flung up and bounced off the side of the ravine only a few feet away. He groaned, moving closer and moving down to the next ledge that Raaen had taken before hopping across to the other side where the pass was at its shortest. The hunter didn’t seem phased by this at all and Fennil wasn’t sure if it was bravery or outright stupidity. Maybe it was the fact his armor wasn’t getting uncomfortably hot this close to the molten fire. 

“Hurry up, or you’ll cook down there.” He repeated the hunter’s words mockingly and tried to look where he was supposed to step without looking at the bubbling pool of fire, but curiosity got the better of him. 

Oh light, he was really close. 

He was way too close.

The paladin froze up completely, eyes wide with terror at the realization that he was only a few feet above a pool of magma and one slip up would have him tumbling into it. No amount of healing would save him from that, and he hadn’t even been able to connect to the light fully yet anyway. This was a horrible, stupid, reckless plan, why on earth did he agree? Why on earth didn’t he go the other way around? The pool below, as if mocking his terror, bubbled and popped, making him yelp and cling to the wall, shoving himself as close to it as possible with his face against the warm rock. The rest of the group muttered but he couldn’t make out what they were saying, too busy imagining the sounds of him broiling in the pool below. 

He did hear a cascade of rocks tumbling down the ravine and Fennil’s only thought was that it would be coming crashing down on his head and ending his life right then and there, but he wasn’t expecting it to be a person, never mind his sister. She grabbed his arm and gave her brother a small smile. 

“Fennil, breathe. Just good, calm breaths.” Had he been hyperventilating? He didn't think he was, but as he took the nice slow breaths he was starting to feel a bit better. Fennil nodded and gave her a tight lipped smile, thinking to himself how he would have to thank her as soon as they got across the pass- She grabbed his arm again, much harder this time, spun him around, and shoved. 

Ohlighthewasgoingtodie.

He was dead. No doubt in his mind he was dead, fell into the pool- no, shoved into the pool of magma by his sister. His own sister! Oh how he was going to haunt her for the rest of his days; what was that for? Payback for the time he'd let her dragonhawk loose and it didn't come back five summers ago? Perhaps as a ghost he could ask Lady Sylvannas to raise him as an undead, then he could get his own payback on her. Yes that would work, he'd haunt her for all time, driving off any of her boyfriends and force her to live the rest of her days alone and be reminded it was all because she shoved him into a pool of lava. 

It took a few moments for the shock to pass before the paladin realized he was in fact, not dead, not shoved into a pool of magma by Kyrel, and possibly had soiled his armor just a bit. Fennil opened his eyes and was face to face with a wall of rock on the other side of the ravine, clinging onto it for dear life. There was only a moment of joy that Kyrel hadn't killed him for no reason, but it quickly turned into anger. She didn't kill him, but very easily could have. 

“KYREL!”

“See you made it across just fine!”

She was grinning. Grinning! He was going to kill her when she got up there. As if it was nothing she hopped across, just like Raaen did, and started scaling the cliffside so Fennil quickly scrambled after her, shouting the whole way up. 

Dragons scorching the earth be damned, that was the most terrifying moment of his life and he made sure that she heard a good earful before hopping on the back of Amazil’s undead gryphon. Lucky her, she just got to fly across the chasm of death unlike the rest of them. The death knight chuckled as she asked if he was alright.

“No.” Fennil gave a pointed glare to Kyrel as she hopped on her hawkstrider and laughed with Raaen, who made a strangled shrieking noise, probably mocking him. She smacked him a moment later but they kept laughing. 

“You're still shaking, Fennil. Will you be alright?” The gryphon took off, flying low and rather slowly to stay with the group. He kept his arms firmly wrapped around her waist as not to fall, one near death experience was enough for today, and gave a slight nod. He couldn't stay mad at her, she was his baby sister. He still remembered changing her diapers on a few occasions when his parents had been too busy or away on scouting missions to scatter the Amani. Fennil leaned forward, resting his head on the back of Amazil’s armor and felt the cool metal against his cheek. Something about it was calming, even as the beast they sat on pitched upwards to nab a small bird out of the sky and swallow it whole. That brought the question of why the undead beast even bothered, because the bird's corpse tumbled out between its ribs and landed on the ground below with a sickening splat, but maybe it was just habit. 

As night fell, they stopped to rest beneath a large tree. There used to be a proper camp here, the shards of a tent tangled in the branches above. While chewing on some tough jerky Fennil wondered just how suddenly the oasis had sprung up. It reminded him of Stranglethorn, aside from the fact that if he looked to the right it was seemingly endless savanna. The campfire they built eventually died down and they curled up in tents of their own, aside from Raaen, who had scaled the tree to scope out the surrounding area and was now lounged across the branches just like a lynx, napping up there.

His own lynx was curled up at the foot of the tree, it's green eyes uncomfortably locked into little Emberbark, who was on top of the dead campfire and digging in the coals. For a moment Fennil swore the car was stalking the little dog, the way it's eyes tracking Emberbark’s every move as it happily dug around in the warm coals. Before going to sleep, Fennil whistled for the dog and it came into his tent, safely away from the apex predator. 

Sleeping was interrupted by a loud thump and Fennil shot up, smacking his head on the top of the tent, causing it to collapse around him and the little dog. Emberbark yapped loudly, running around under the fabric wildly even after he got out from under it, showing the tiny animal a way out from under the collapsed tent. The two other tents’ occupants groaned loudly, leaving Fennil to give up trying to quiet the dog down as they were already awake. A third groan revealed what the first noise was: Raaen had fallen out of the tree. With a snort, Fennil helped the man up and started to prepare for the day. 

According to the map, they were about halfway to Mulgore, so it would be another day of riding and they should arrive at Thunder Bluff by nightfall if they got moving soon, as the sun was already nearing it's peak in the sky. For now, as the rest of the group woke up and dressed, he was more than content to watch the little lump under the collapsed tent wiggle around and with a smile, Fennil reached out and poked the dog in what he guessed was Emberbark’s head and laughed when it started spinning around trying to nip at his finger. Amazil cooked up some eggs in a pan for breakfast while he brushed out his hair and the two hunters wandered off to check out the oasis. Briefly, Fennil wondered if his sister had a thing for the other ranger, but wasn’t she dating a redhead with a dragonhawk? At least that’s what Amazil had told him from when they’d visited last. Maybe they broke up. Either way, that was hardly his business so he finished up brushing out the tangles and put his hair up using a stray cord from a necklace he was making. 

Fennil thought about how he should have gotten a haircut back in Orgrimmar because his hair kept blowing in his face and getting in the way, now reaching past the middle of his back. It didn’t even stay wrapped in the cord either, sliding out of the knot and forcing him to try again. Amazil stopped what she was doing and helped him, taking a ribbon out of her own hair and using it to tie his up. The paladin patted the messy bun for a moment, not used to having his hair up at all.

“Is something wrong?” Amazil’s question interrupted his thoughts.

“No, no not at all. I just don’t think I’ve ever had my hair this long before.” He answered and tried not to mess with it, lest he want it to fall out again. The death knight pulled out a small knife from under her belt, offering it to Fennil. 

“I could cut it for you, if you wish.” He shook his head politely with a small smile, but didn’t let her know he absolutely did not want that, ever, in a million years. He’d seen the way she cut her own hair, choppy and unevenly. Many a time had a few of the non elven patrons of the inn back in Orgrimmar called him a priss for taking such care in his appearance, but was there really any shame in looking at least half decent when not in the field of battle? So he denied Amazil’s offer and would simply wait until they got to the city to fix his hair. While he thought about it, if it had grown this long, he’d probably need to get his roots touched up as well... naturally, he was more of an ash blond than the pale, almost white blond he’d dyed it to quite some time ago.

Fennil snapped out his thoughts and started packing up the camp when Raaen returned with his sister and a bundle of fish for along the way to the tauren city. It was a long and dreadfully boring ride the rest of the way and even ordinarily amusing travel games became boring and simply pointing out the occasional bird or rock or tree. It wasn't called the Barrens for nothing. 

Oddly enough, the gates to Mulgore were closed and before them was a destroyed village littered with the corpses of both Horde and Alliance soldiers. There was no explanation for why the town was burned and destroyed, or the attackers all dead, so they pressed on. Amazil flew them over the gate one by one, Fennil being the last as he checked for survivors. Mulgore itself, on the other side of the massive wooden gate, was beautiful. 

The sloping hills and plentiful plains had few trees, but those it did have were clustered along paths and soared into a sky that was like the bluest sapphire the paladin had ever seen, dotted with puffy white clouds that one could only ever hope to reach out and touch, hoping they would feel like cotton. Thunder Bluff broke the horizon as a massive spire of cliffs adorned with humble tauren buildings and it's elevators lifting travelers to the city. The sun was slowly lowering itself, painting the land in its dying orange hues like a work of art. If only he knew how to draw, Fennil thought, because he would have loved to capture an image of such a beautiful place. Amazil looked over the hills with a smile as well he noticed and couldn't help but wonder if she'd been here before. 

Just as he guessed, the sun dipped below the mountains by the time they rode to the city and it was quiet. The guild checked into the inn, much larger and more spacious than they'd expected and certainly better than the one in Orgrimmar. There were even little end tables and drawers for them to tuck their belongings, rather than just shoving them under a hammock and hoping no one would step on them or rummage for anything worthwhile. Fennil himself hopped into a bed and soon after began to doze, tired from the travel. He just hadn't in so long, it was a large change from loafing around the Broken Tusk.

-

Amazil threw a blanket over her companion and quietly went down the stairs to order a meal and listen to the gossip. A few tauren talked about the issues in Orgrimmar and their worries about the Warchief focusing more and more on a ‘true Horde’ as they put it, rather than Deathwing or the Alliance. The Alliance was a big topic and she quickly found out the fate of the destroyed town they had passed along the way; Alliance soldiers destroyed it and killed everyone there. Not even just the guards and warriors, but shopkeepers and civilians as well. One of the tauren slammed a fist on the table before her. 

“If only word had reached us sooner, I would have claimed every one of their heads.” 

Amazil turned back to her meal, shaking her head. So much death, why not stop wasting it on each other and group together against the monstrous dragon threatening to broil them all alive? Many towns had been burned, burned and left charred in Deathwing’s path of destruction. She finished eating and as she went back up the stairs passed by Kyrel and Raaen who were fully dressed in their respective armor and leaving the inn. On his way by, Raaen smirked at Amazil.

She knew that look and chuckled. It wasn't as if she could stop them and why would she in the first place? She wasn't their mother. Amazil remembered what Kyrel had said to her about the last ranger she was courting and how her and Fennil's mother would have skinned the man alive if she knew. Was such a sweet woman so defensive of her children? She took a seat on the bed near the one Fennil was sleeping in and noticed he'd thrown off the blanket she covered him with earlier. It must have been because he was now wrapped around his little dog, she figured. The thing was so warm, it wouldn't have been much of a surprise. The death knight again threw the blanket over him and began to read a book, eventually dozing off herself. She awoke later on and found that same blanket tossed over her, and Fennil without it in his own bed. 

She got up, grumbling how she'd told him many times the cold doesn't bother her at all, and tossed it back over him before returning to bed. This continued throughout the night until eventually, Amazil sat down on his bed on top of the blanket thrown over him, watching over the sleeping paladin. 

“Must you be so stubborn?” She asked, though the man was asleep. “You worry too much about others and hardly take care of yourself.” Amazil finished the sentence with a yawn, lying down on the pillow Fennil wasn’t using. She watched him for a moment more, expecting him to wake up and toss the blanket off again, but she was tired. Tired of the needless drama and violence, and the travel as well. 

She knew she didn't have to, but she'd stuck with Fennil throughout the year as he dealt with his issues. Still she found the occasional glares and dirty looks from other members of the Horde, but this man didn't seem to care at all, shrugging them off and continuing on. Perhaps he was just blissfully unaware, though Amazil highly doubted it. Fennil wasn't stupid, as she'd first thought upon meeting him and hed treated her, a death knight of all people, with kindness. He was good company, when he was in a better state of mind than he had been lately, an actual friend. Amazil missed that. If any of hers were still alive, as shown by Inris, they now only felt scorn and hate for what she'd become.

Maybe it would be best to accept it and move on. Instead of searching for what was long since lost- for who was long since gone- it would be better to take what was now growing into her life again. Friends. Companionship. Maybe, maybe one day she could call them family. Fennil's sister seemed kind and accepting, Raaen… she didn't have a good read on him yet, but the man seemed alright. Not bothering to move back to her bed, Amazil fell asleep like that until the early morning came.


End file.
